


Musings in Medical

by ScaryScarecrows



Series: Garage Tapes [16]
Category: Gotham City Garage (Comics)
Genre: Frank the Dad, Gen, Jason and Antoine are asleep, and now for someone completely different, he'd Dad a cactus if it looked like it needed it, they may as well not be here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-23 06:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows
Summary: Antoine rolls over, sort of, and Frank ruffles his hair.“Hrm…?”“Shh. Go back to sleep.”“‘Kay, Papa…”
Series: Garage Tapes [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1033470
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Musings in Medical

**Author's Note:**

> Aftermath of 'Reach Down'.

Frank finally chases Mark out of Medical a little after midnight.

“You need to sleep,” he says, prying his clipboard from his clutching fingers. “Give me this. Four hours.”

“But—”

“They’re not dying,” he points out. “Come on, man, we’re fucked without you, don’t make yourself sick.”

“If something happens—”

“Yeah, yeah, like you don’t have an alarm in your room. Go on.”

Mark stumbles off, muffling a yawn in his sleeve, and Frank plops down in the still-warm rolling chair on the far side of the room, leg aching. Nothing’s wrong with it tonight, just stress, but that doesn’t make it any better. It still hurts. Itches, a little, and he hates that. Phantom itching is the  **worst** .

The only people in here are resident dummies one and two, and they really are fine. Jason’s mother was here for a little while earlier, and she bullied him into taking pain medication; a full dose, rather than the half he’ll sometimes concede to to make Mark shut up. She couldn’t stay, had to get back to work, but he promised to look after her kid. Keep him down, that sort of thing. He doubts the boss’ll be up and about before at least tomorrow afternoon, though.

Antoine might be up before he is. Might. He’s out cold now, though, blissfully unaware that pretty much everyone has scrawled all over the cast on his arm. Some of them were nice; a name, maybe, or a ‘feel better!’ Most of them were not. Honestly, Frank doesn’t feel that sorry. They spent the day worried out of their minds because dummy two had to go after dummy one, and having mean or dumb things scribbled on a cast is a fair punishment. It won’t be there forever, and maybe having to spend six weeks looking a row of rainbow penises and ‘fuck u’s will teach him a lesson.

Idiots. It’s dumb luck and  **nothing** else that kept them alive. And that  **thing** ...Frank doesn’t know what that was. He doesn’t want to. Sam would have, and he feels guilty for not having the same curiosity, but still.

He hadn’t seen it up top; nobody had really gotten a good look. All they knew was that it had popped out, tackled Jason into the ravine, and that Antoine had gone down after them. They’d lost contact with him a few hours later, and then they’d had to hustle to get an expedition underway.

That monster...they’d seen it, first, and Frank had been convinced they were both dead. And by all rights, they should have been; Antoine’s arm had been badly broken, to the point of the bone punching through the skin, and Jason...well. Mark says the reason he’s  **not** dead is because he’s Weird that way. You know, given his, er, history.

He thinks both of them have aged him ten years.

Antoine rolls over, sort of, and Frank ruffles his hair.

“Hrm…?”

“Shh. Go back to sleep.”

“‘Kay, Papa…”

Yeah. Ten years, easy. But they’re gonna be fine. And that’s the important thing, right? Right.

But still. Seeing that thing...big, and...and with all those teeth, with one of said teeth rammed into its goddamn eyeball...that’s not gonna be something he forgets in a hurry, no sirree Bob.

It’s been a long day. Frank hopes to not live through another one like it, hopes that monster wasn’t a sign of things to come.

He suspects, though, deep down, that it was. Something’s changing. There’s whispers, coming out of the Garden, that something’s happening. Something big. And he worries, he really does, about what’s going to happen.

But, really, what good has worrying ever done? None, that’s what. They’ll weather the storm like they always do.

But he worries anyway.

THE END


End file.
